Valkyria Chronicles 2:  The Perfect Soldier
by GetterDragonRagnarokSamurai
Summary: There are many ways to tell a tale.  What if Project Valhalla was only half of the equation?  The ultimate combatant is one thing, but what is truly the Perfect Soldier?  Lanseal Military Academy shall soon find out...
1. Destiny of Fire

**Hello, people! It's GetterDragonRagnarokSamurai here, writing a story on a complete whim and an obsession with Armored Trooper VOTOMS. This here is a sort of alternate telling of the second game, inspired by a crack RP with a friend. Those of Class E Chronicles, do let me know if I can use your characters for this story! I wanna try my hand at writing, and I'm myself wondering how I can write them corresponding to the situations that will happen in future chapters!**

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><p><strong>Valkyria Chronicles 2: The Perfect Soldier<strong>

**By GetterDragonRagnarokSamurai**

**Prologue Chapter: Destiny of Fire**

A Randgriz Bar, December 29, 1936

Brigitte "Rosie" Stark. Former hero of the Gallian militia, now a humble singer(and lust object of Dallas Wyatt). The redheaded woman looked over the song sheet she'd created, and chuckled darkly. That was depressing. But then, the state of affairs in her very country was depressing right now. Looking down at the simple black dress she was going to wear for this performance, and sighed. She was meant to be supporting Gallia the best she could, and here she was during the opening salvos of its civil war, dressed like she was going to a funeral, and about to sing a song that had much the same tone. But the crowd was waiting. They were waiting to hear her wonderful voice and be cheered up. Maybe if she sang it right, their mind wouldn't be on the lyrics.

Rosie resolved to make it sound as nice as possible, then. She stood from the chair of her prep room, making sure all her makeup was in order, and that she looked fully presentable, before taking one last look at the lyrics sheet. The musicians were already ready for their part in it as well. The redhead then walked out, and onto the stage. Sitting at the front row table was, of course, Dallas, waving enthusiastically with a none-too-subtle blush on her face. The rest of the populace looked particularly sad, though, for the most part. Especially the Darcsens. They thought, with the revelation of Lady Cordelia's heritage, they'd get some respect. Instead, they got such stigma that what seemed like half the damn country had turned on them, wishing to drive each and every member of the race out.

"Alright, everyone… I know it's tough out there right now, but you know pretty damn well we gotta stay strong." Some of Rosie's casual self, particularly from the days of the Second War, had surely seeped into her stage persona. "You've been listening to me this long, and it's made ya smile, so don't stop now. Let's do this thing." A snap of her fingers signaled the band to start playing, and already a slow, measured drum beat came with some trumpets assisting. Tapping her foot in sync with it, the singer started the tune, once the last three dramatic trumpet notes of the opening finished.

"_Continuing to search for my stolen past… I wander…_

_Through an unfamiliar town… Where am I?_

_The scent of fire is still choking me… To the bone.._

_Even though I've long since left it far behind,_

_If you gaze into hell,_

_It will suck your he~art dry,_

_I've grown weary of all these wars and fights_

_If it's my destiny, I'll choose,_

_Just cut me a little break,_

_Surely there'll be a tomorrow, after today!_

_Won't you stop all this fighting now, todaaaaay?_

The trumpets returned, keeping a slow, sad-sounding, and yet somehow still triumphant tune, before the next verse came.

_Picking up and collecting the shattered dreams, I still roam,_

_Without a cause, and without any sort of goal,_

_The flickering shadows are like my nightmares come to life,_

_Even though… I've already left it all far behind!_

_As soon as I look at you, my heart becomes so cold,_

_Even though I'm tired of all this fighting…_

_If it's my destiny, I'll choose,_

_Just cut me a little break,_

_Surely there'll be a tomorrow, afte~er today!_

_Won't you stop all this fighting now, todaaaay?_

That same tune as before, with a single tear coming down the singer's face, as came the repeat and finish.

_If you gaze into hell,_

_It will suck your he~art dry,_

_I've grown weary of all these wars and fights_

_If it's my destiny, I'll choose,_

_Just cut me a little break,_

_Surely there'll be a tomorrow, after today!_

_Won't you stop all this fighting now, todaaaaay?"_

The song finished, once again, with a triumphant-sounding tune to it. The only thing that really gave Rosie any solace was that it was begging to stop fighting. And yet, that song, which she herself wrote, sounded so oppressive… Still, her creative instinct wished to let it out… There was applause, though, even if it too was a bit sobered and sad. Before she turned to leave, she gave one last little speech.

"To all the Darcens in the audience, and those who support them… Your peace will come one day, I'm sure of it. Don't let those Rebels put you down, got it?" Wiping that tear she'd let out, Rosie grinned at them, eliciting full-on cheers from them all. The most enthusiastic was, of course, Dallas. Despite herself, another tear rolled down the woman's cheek. It was just like old times.

**Temporary Research Base, Undisclosed Location within Revolutionary Territory**

A man whom still wore the Gallian military uniform took off a pair of sunglasses which were hiding his green eyes. He was of about six foot two, and looked rather imposing in general, and surely quite serious. Former Gallian Colonel Yoran Pailsen looked at the various troops in front of him, while removing his commander's cap and smoothing out his .

So many men, from all walks of Gallian life, being experimented on with varying forms of Ragnite. As well as undergoing severe psychological conditioning. They all had one thing in common, though: They were physically strong, far stronger than ordinary men. Thus, they were perfect for continuing the sister project to Gallia's Project Valhalla: The Perfect Soldier Project. Gallia wished to create the ultimate soldier by granting them the ancient powers of the Valkyrur, and that was acceptable to Colonel Pailsen. But they would still be human. To him, and certain other individuals in his country, that was unacceptable. The Perfect Soldier would be unyielding, unquestioning, and, with the help of Project Valhalla, unbeatable. But it was shut down due to its incredibly brutal nature.

Thus Pailsen defected to the Revolutionaries so that he might better continue the experiments. He watched the results with a neutral expression. So far, they were only replicating what had been achieved so far: A hypnotic switch that turned the Perfect Soldier candidates into little more than obedient automatons. But that was just it—it was a switch. They were still not fully in that mindset. They were, when switched "off" still capable of feeling anger and fear. The true Perfect Soldier would feel none of those things. He would know only orders and their execution. And power, if combined with Project Valhalla.

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><p><strong>I'll be honest, I never played VC2, but Class E Chronicles should at least help me out a little in that respect. This story will be covering both canons and OCs, as there's lots we don't know about what else goes on. Surprises abound!<strong>


	2. Class Is In Session

**Here we go, people, Chapter 2! Introducing some new characters and all that. Hope you enjoy it!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Class is in Session<strong>

**Lanseal Royal Military Academy, January 7 1937**

Entrance exams had been finished. People were screened for their combat classes. Students had been assigned to their learning classes. And Larry Eiling was one happy camper. According to the screening, he was an engineer! The boy hopped out of bed with much enthusiasm, getting his uniform on quickly, but well enough. But the most important thing that would go into his gear was… His book-holder. Within it was a technical manual on various guns throughout Europa. It was a sign of Larry's wanting to be an engineer even before he signed up at the Academy. Reaching into his pocket, the brown-haired boy took out a picture and looked at it with matching eyes.

A picture of him at seven, and his father John. He was busy playing with a model tank, while John was the one actually looking at the camera that his mother Mary was holding. Still, he looked at it as a reminder of three things: One, that he always had this passion from an early age, and two, that he'd be following in his family's soldier footsteps. He might not have gone on to be a proper combat trooper like his old man, but that wasn't what he wanted to be. He wanted to be working with cold, hard metal and tools to make better weapons for his country. And play with them. And finally, three, he'd grown a helluva lot since that picture. Larry now had a good six feet of height, and was at least competent and muscular enough not to get trashed in a street fight, not to mention handle heavy machinery. Once he was done reminiscing, Larry put away the photo and got to moving out to class. As he did, he thought about what kind of people might be there.

Walking through the halls(and reading his book at the same time), he already saw a varied set of individuals attending—Even a few Darcsens. But he didn't really care about the race of all the students he saw. His eyes—when they weren't on his manual and he wasn't narrowly avoiding bumping into people—were on the symbols that their uniforms bore. Just how many of them were Engineers? Shocktroopers? Armored Techs? Dare he say, even Anthem Corps? Well, he concluded he didn't see that much of that last one, but maybe it required a little musical talent, that job.

He arrived at his destination with about five minutes to spare: Classroom E. And already he saw quite the… Collection of people in it. The first one that caught his eye was a very tall, very muscular Darcsen, with messy hair, and a Darcsen-patterned bandana and neckerchief, barely shorter than him, but clearly older. The young Engineer spotted the Armored Tech symbol on his uniform, and realized that his muscles were far from just for show. He actually scared him a little. Larry feared that if he pissed this guy off, he would get snapped in two like a twig.

Unfortunately for him, he was pissed off in general. Regardless, though, the Engineer decided to reach out to him. "Uh, hey there... My name's-"

He was sharply cut off by a growl, though. "Go away." The larger man said this in a low, clearly threatening whisper. But it was loud and menacing enough to get the Engineer to back the hell off. "...Zamuel. Now you know exactly who not to talk to, stupid." The older one crossed his arms and got back to waiting, rather clearly impatiently.

Larry backed off immediately and his eyes thus turned to the other immediate body in his vicinity. A girl with… A maid headband. _Okay, that's different._ Larry noted. _…And a little cute._ He chuckled to himself as he sat down next to the girl, noting her overall appearance. She had the symbol of a fellow Engineer… Now that was something. "Well, hey there." He said as he sat down next to her. "Welcome to Class E. My name's Larry Eiling."

"…Er…" The girl, rather short and somewhat meek in appearance, looked at him with her bi-colored eyes—One teal, one brown. Larry took in the somewhat dark color of her skin, and her shoulder-length hair. Clearly, she wasn't able to say much more, due to her nervousness. "Eet eez… Nice to meet you." She got out as politely as she could despite the awkwardness of the situation. "My name eez… Eclaire." The Engineer girl gave a polite bow, even as she sat, which had Larry taken aback a bit. That was different.

"Um… OK…" He scratched his head nervously as he tried to figure out what to do next from there. Then came a snicker just behind him, and the brown-haired boy turned to see who it was. And he was awestruck—about as an equal level as with Eclaire, currently. He saw a girl with glasses, having a surprisingly matching complexion to the accented young woman, but taller and more athletic-looking. "What's so funny, Beautiful?" He asked, in retaliation for her laughter. A comical blush spread across her face immediately from embarrassment, letting him get a laugh in turn.

This girl didn't look very impressed regardless, though. She crossed her arms while looking at the young Engineer with a raised eyebrow. A look at her combat-class insignia showed that she was a Lancer. Larry quickly noted this was someone else who could break him into a couple of pieces. But still, she was pretty damn hot, he thought, even if she looked older than him. But he was 17, she couldn't be that much older. Between her and Eclaire, though, she had some damn good dating choices. Sam finally recovered from the comment he made. "You are, but not THAT funny, little boy." She tauntingly patted his head, and the Engineer merely grinned at this.

Next to them, of course, Eclaire just kept staring back and forth, wondering to assess—but never say—about Larry. Just like the dark-skinned girl, she was not universally approving of his statement. She even looked a bit insulted, in fact, but Larry didn't see her frown. That look changed to one of mild horror, and then into flat-out disdain and suspicion. Now she kept an eye on the Engineer with increased wariness. Little did Larry know, she was devoting herself to a specific task now.

"Well, I'm at least amusing to you, so that's a plus for me." He replied, carrying himself well enough. "The name's—"

"Larry," The dark-skinned Lancer interrupted smugly, getting another laugh out of him. Oh, she was having fun already. That was good. "So, Larry, you're an Engineer, and I'm a Lancer. If you know about statistics, I'm sure you know which class loses more arm-wrestles. Can your masculinity handle it?" Truth be told, she didn't know statistics herself—too much reading was boring to her—but she just wanted to bait him and see how he might react.

"Oh, sure." The boy replied, shrugging, "But while you're busy arm-wrestling Rebels, Tough Girl, I'll be planting landmines on their radiators. Haha, hahahahaha!" Immediately, his new acquaintance gave him a soft, but firm punch on the shoulder.

"Do. Not. Ever. Laugh. Like. That. Again. By the way, the name's Samantha." She stated. Eclaire could only look between the two, thinking that they were absolutely strange. But she couldn't stop herself looking annoyed herself, while at the same time looking unsure as to why. …And then the look on her face turned to one of mild horror, but she immediately hid it as quickly as possible.

"Both of you stop, you're annoying the shit out of me." Zamuel finally spoke aloud, sending a chill down Larry's spine. He STILL sounded scary… Though he had just the faintest sliver of an odd accent as well. Maybe it was just his imagination. Then when he turned and got a proper look at the tough-looking(and tough-talking) Darcsen, who was looking back, his imagination jumped. For some reason, or another, he was starting to picture him with a guitar. It seemed oddly fitting. But he quickly shook it out of his mind, lest he get a punch to the face instead of in the shoulder from this guy. "Just shut up and wait for class, yeah? Ugh…" Larry noted the clear look of disgust on his face before he returned to his regular forward-facing position. Whatever he was thinking about himself and Samantha, it wasn't nice.

"Attention!" Called yet another female voice—There seemed to be a lot of them, Larry thought. Class E was damn full of tough chicks, clearly. The Engineer was sure that Eclaire, as a fellow member of his combat class, had enough close-combat potential for the job. Their gaze found a tall girl, about the same height as Samantha, with blond hair, an Yggdist emblem on her chest, and a sword at her side. Just like Zamuel, her uniform had the symbol of an Armored Tech on it. "Everyone, this is your Class Chair, Morgan Malvin speaking." Her green eyes looked about the class, and it seemed she was visibly nervous about it all. "It, um… Is a pleasure to have you all here." She said simply. For the moment, it appeared to be all, and Zamuel failed to look pleased or amused. But then she pumped her fist with determination. "We'll make sure to be the best class at Lanseal, even surpassing Class A, right!"

There was some laughter, but the response was a bit enthusiastic. Quite a few of the students in the class thought a girl like this Malvin was a breath of fresh air. Maybe a bit of a wide-eyed idealist, for the cynics like Zamuel, but otherwise good enough. Her competence would be shown soon as well. Larry and Samantha were among those laughing, and Morgan was visibly a bit embarrassed, but she calmed down, closing her eyes and gripping her sword. Which itself amused the class a little. "Now, presenting our Professor…" She got to her seat, and a man stepped through the door. If there was a height competition between the people currently in the class so far, this man had won it. Seven foot two, wearing a… Federation uniform?

_Hold on a sec!_ Larry and Samantha's eyes focused on that one detail. What was a Federation officer doing in this classroom? On this campus? He wasn't to know the… Disastrous involvement regarding the kidnapping of the Archduchess, but regardless he and most in the classroom were shocked to see him there. Eclaire shrank back a bit in her seat—She was obviously fearful this man and his presence, even more than she was obviously intimidated by meeting new people in general. Finally, the man introduced himself.

"James London." He walked to the front of the class, and looked at all of them, making his own assessments of what they might look like. He didn't look completely unimpressed. The look on his face practically said "They aren't going to die quickly, and I have my damn way, they weren't going to die in battle without a stroke of bad luck." Then he confirmed Morgan's statement with a matter-of-fact one of his own: "I will be teaching this class."

Zamuel simply looked on at him, clearly even more unimpressed with their newest "guest." One could only wonder what sort of thoughts were going on in his head, but none of them were nice, that much could be certain.

Larry and Samantha, meanwhile, simply wondered how the class would go from this point forward. One last look at Samantha before things begun let him know that she was most definitely in the opposite mood from Zamuel. This(beautiful!) girl before him was amused, very much so. Almost as if she'd been hoping for this sort of development.

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><p><strong>Well, there ya go. The classes have begun. Next chapter, I hope to show the antagonist side of things as I set up in the prologue. As a side note, Avan's laugh is somewhere between annoying and hilarious. But the presence of it in-universe was also addressed :P <strong>

**Also:**

**Zamuel property of Saint-Zaby**

**Samantha Kruger property of RedShocktrooper**

**James London property of Turtler**

**Eclaire (last name Morgan, funny enough) property of Dr. Evil**

**I own only Larry and Morgan thus far :P  
><strong>


	3. Inheritance

**Hello again! Finally managed to finish this chapter. Now we properly introduce some of the antagonists... And show a little characterization of people :D**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Inheritance<strong>

"The first question I am going to ask you today…" Professor London began, without further ado and without bothering to address the obvious misgivings most of the class had about him, "…Is how many of you have a will written up." Yet more shocked reactions from the class, though these were comparatively more subtle.A will? He was asking them how many had their deaths in order? Yes, this was a military academy to be sure, but most of them were still quite young…

Well, Larry sure as hell didn't. He froze up, scratching his head in confusion, and a little fear. Sure, he didn't plan on dying, but the battlefield was a scary place, as his father and grandfather had told him so often. So many brushes with death, so many ways to see allies die, with the constant knowledge that you could be next. Or first. Sure, his father was by now done with that, as he was raising a family now, but the boy wondered if he'd done as the Federation officer before him had instructed back when he was new to it.

Samantha sighed, looking down, thinking back to her time in the Second War. Nothing but running supplies and cleanup, after the battles were already over. A boring job where all she heard were stories. She didn't have a will written up then, either. Not planning on dying in the fighting was one thing, but she wasn't expected to fight in the first her… Concentration, and that of most of the class that was sat near the door, was broken by an… Interesting smell. She, Larry, Eclaire, and a blond Engineer girl of an oddly similar appearance and manner to Morgan(though lacking some of her more overtly boyish traits) turned to the source of the scent. Zamuel caught it too, and was, of course, annoyed. By that and the question of a will. Who the hell would he have to write it to? Just a pain in the ass was what it was.

Standing at the door was yet another Engineer. There seemed to be a lot of them in Class E. In his head, Larry wondered if that was the real reason for the class letter. The latecomer was dirty in some spots on his skin, even though his uniform was clean(if severely hastily put on). He gave a salute to the Professor, not really caring one way or the other about his very clear and obvious allegiance. "Miles Maldonado, Engineer, reporting…" While he clearly had an eye for procedure, if not presentation, it was obvious that this black-haired boy, with blue eyes matched only in color by a Darcsen's hair, was… A very nervous sort.

"At ease." London said as he returned the salute, then dropped it. Though the officer most definitely noted Miles'… Unique presence. He directed Miles to the empty chair just in front of the blond girl that was sitting next to Eclaire. Said girl looked a little disgusted at the thought, but did not complain, and obeyed without voiced objection. The headband-wearing young girl next to her turned and whispered carefully.

"Meestresz Katarina… Perhaps we should vacayte?" She put forth, but the one she so addressed with such respect shook her head, annoyed as she was. Katarina, as she was called, scrunched her face, though, with a little frustration, as if someone was speaking to(and annoying) her despite the class being otherwise silent.

Miles sat down as instructed, and looked toward Mr. London, who repeated the question as before. "I ask again, for our new arrival: How many of you have a will written up?"

Katarina's hand shot up, if only because answering the question would help her ignore the terrible smell about Miles. "All of the Sterling Estate's affairs are in order in that regard." She stated, in a very formal tone. At the end of that, she gave an almost accusatory look at their Class Chair.

London nodded, and looked around at the other students in the classroom. Some others raised their hands, but the grand majority did not. "Very well. Those of you who do not have them in order, I would like you to do so. Ours is not a career that guarantees survival. And war breeds selfishness. I'm sure the last thing you want is for a family heirloom or valuable to be taken by a greedy comrade on hearsay, with no documentation to say otherwise."

This struck a chord with most of the students in the class… Particularly Morgan, who seemed to pale at the thought of the question. Zamuel still utterly failed to react with either fear or determination. Only contempt. He gave a scoff at the notion of writing a will.

"Please, commence now. I understand the… Emotional difficulty in such an action, especially at your early age." London said, as he began to walk around to monitor the students' progress.

Larry heard a sniffle a couple seats off beside him. When he turned to spot the source, he found a girl who looked a little chubby and stocky. And MORE than a little sad. The Engineer sighed at this. If he was a little more afraid to die—and he was plenty as it was right now—he'd be in her place. The tears wouldn't stop subtly coming from her green eyes, and the fact she seemed to have some kind of scar on her face told Larry that maybe she'd been through a little.

That Miles boy was looking about as distressed as everyone else. Less so than Larry himself, though, which made the Engineer feel a little pathetic.

He would've looked to see how Samantha might've been acting in the face of this request, but something told him he'd never get anything done if he kept looking around at everyone else. At the same time, he was still shaking. Larry WAS afraid to die, and even as he pulled the paper out where he would write who got what in the eventuality of his death on the battlefield. Taking out a pen, he began to think, even in his fear, and started to put it into words, tuning out somewhat Mr. London's approach through his row of desks.

_I, Larry Eiling… In the eventuality of my death on the battlefield… Do hereby state that my gun be retrieved and inscribed with my name, and sent home to my parents. All books which I own, save for "World of Tanks and Nation of Arms", shall be given away. To John Eiling, my father, and Maria Eiling, my mother… Please give my sincerest apologies that, unlike him, I was unable to survive long enough to return and start a family like he did, or his father before him. _Now he was starting to cry. Even if he wanted to be a mechanic and not a straight fighter… If there was anything his father achieved that he did, it was going out to the battlefield as a career, and coming back physically and mentally intact. With a sniffle, Larry chuckled at the dark irony that this was already getting to his own psyche. But the Engineer wiped his tears on his sleeves, taking a deep breath so that he could calm down enough to continue. _If my body is in such a state that it did not sustain too grievous injury, bury me in my uniform. Again… Mom, Dad… I'm sorry if I don't make it back. _

It certainly read like a final letter enough to make the boy put his head in his arms and try to save himself some embarrassment by crying silently into them. He could hear a few other members of the class be less subtle in their fears. He really was a little disappointed in himself to be so afraid, though… Wasn't this what he signed on for? What good was… Being afraid going to do him?

It took a minute, but he'd finally stopped. Wiping his face dry again, Larry carefully looked around to see how everyone else was doing. Zamuel had leaned back in his seat, his hands behind his head and looking pretty relaxed. Turning his head slowly beside him, he saw the girl Eclaire had referred to as "Mistress" composed enough, and not having written a thing since she said all that was in order for her family.

Looking behind him now, he saw a relatively composed, if distressed, Samantha, writing. She didn't seem to be crying, though. The Engineer attributed it to the fact she was definitely a tough chick. He'd certainly gotten to know enough girls in the past not to stereotype them as being overly emotional. And if this class was any indication, he was correct.

It was then that Samantha put down her own pen, and gave Larry a tap on the shoulder. "Hey, you OK?" She asked, looking a bit concerned… Maybe a little surprised. He nodded in response, grinning a little and scratching his head nervously. It somehow didn't seem to mess up his hair too much, though. He supposed it was a good thing he kept it just a little short.

"I'm fine… Just… Y'know… Death's a tough subject for anyone, yeah?" He whispered back, only to get a more playful punch in the shoulder than before. Carefully, he sent one right back at her, the red starting to leave his eyes now. This was nice, he thought. Crying one moment and playing with someone he'd just met the next.

"Sure it is, wimp." The Lancer replied, giving a playful wink at him. She chuckled a bit, and looked at London, Larry following her gaze. He seemed… Neutral about their attitudes. Unreadable. He could've been thinking it was a breath of fresh air, or it was completely out of proper conduct.

"Oh, I get why you're not afraid, Beautiful. Angels like you can't be killed." He gave a wink of his own, and a tiny, TINY groan escaped from Eclaire nearby him, which he unfortunately did not here. Samantha reddened just a bit, but covered her mouth so that she wouldn't laugh aloud. It made Larry grin more. OH, he knew that was a cheesy one, but he had a way with words that at least made it sound amusing.

Then, Mr. London spoke again, ending their conversation for the moment. His blue-green eyes scanned across the classroom as he did. "All of you who've written something so far, that's not legally a will. It is the beginnings of one. You are to finish it out of class. Now, to ensure that everyone is here that needs to be…" He picked up a roll sheet, and started going through the names.

At the end of it, everyone who was in the class was present, and that pleased him greatly. "Now, I have another question for you… How many of you have your weapons in the class?" This one really perplexed the students, and they started muttering amongst themselves… Some of the things they said were not very nice.

The Federation man was NOT impressed at this. "When you have been released from class, I request that you all go to the armory and grab a weapon. Keep it on your person at all times. You never know when you might be in a situation that may require it."

That might have been true… Larry certainly agreed with the sentiment… But for some of them that would be a very hard thing to do all the time… Then again, this was a military academy, he realized as he chuckled to himself. They would have to do this sort of thing in far worse conditions than walking around a school. He guessed that London really did know what he was talking about, even if his presence wasn't universally accepted. He guessed he'd have to go get his Viper soon enough. When he looked back at Samantha, he could see she was grinning happily(and no longer blushing at all, at that). Whatever she might have been thinking, she definitely approved of the idea that she would get to carry her Lance everywhere. For what, Larry could only guess, but he thought it might be just a little dangerous to ask.

"Armor as well." London continued. More and more disagreements among the classroom, none loud or brave enough to be directly addressed to the Professor. "I understand that some of you do not approve of this… But all of you must understand in turn… This is a war. The enemy will not wait until you can run to the armory and get yourselves ready. They will be doing as much as possible to PREVENT that from happening. Therefore, we must always be one step ahead of them. Rebels, Imperials, or Valkyrur-forbid, Federals if it comes down to it." Some were about to voice their opinions against that last comment, but he would not let thiem. "Be silent. If you are prepared now, you will learn to be prepared later. If your truck gets turned over, you'll at least have your weapons on you. If your tank gets raided, you'll at least have your weapons on you. If your armory and supplies get destroyed, you'll at least have gotten what you needed before that happened. Do you all understand THIS?"

Larry sure did… Much as he didn't trust that comment about Federals possibly being their opponents, the man raised valid points. He resigned himself to the fact he'd be carrying a little more weight around than his books from now on.

"I asked if you all understood." The Professor repeated, and the entire class answered this time.

"Yes, Professor London, Sir!" A few of the students, their class chair included, gave a salute in their seats.

"You're dismissed." Everyone began to put away their wills-in-progress, and stood up to leave. Larry, as he did, got his book and stood, giving it a few looks over the pages before closing it. He'd read it while he ate.

"Ow!" He was suddenly slapped in the back of the head, and turned to look at who'd done it… But he saw no one… Only Eclaire and Katarina walking off as quickly as possible from what he could tell. He discarded the notion that it might have been either of them, though. That would've just been… Well, implausible.

"So, what are you going to do now?" He asked Samantha, as he climbed over his desk to start heading to the door.

"I'm gonna get my lance." Was her laughing reply as she VAULTED over the desks, making the Engineer laugh in turn. "Race you!"

"Hah…" Larry put his book in the bag at his side, and ran out the door. "Last one who gets there's a Colonel Fatass!" He shouted. It was probably the last real chance he was going to get to act like a kid about things, the way they were looking…

**Kloden Forest, Undisclosed Location, Research Compound**

Her name was long-lost… She was known only now as Ragnium-1. Formerly Subject 7. But she'd been nicknamed "Paragon" for her unquestioning loyalty. This young woman, with Darcsen-blue hair, but red Valkyrian eyes, was an experiment from birth. Created from the… Union of a Darcsen man and Valkyria woman, she was a test to see if a Darcsen-Valkyria could happen in the first place. She showed the usual superhuman healing factor and better strength and reflexes of one descended from the fabled race, but was otherwise shown unable to awaken, no matter how much it was tried.

But now, she was something greater. Paragon drew forth a syringe filled with a glowing blue liquid. The one who created her, Dr. Illianara, who now worked alongside Colonel Pailsen, called it Ragnium. A refined form of Ragnite, created near the end of the previous month… It was the first phase in fully finalizing the Perfect Soldier project. Pailsen and his scientists knew that what gave the Valkyrur their strength was the Ragnite that flowed through their very bodies. As such, they attempted to implant it into various soldiers. In its original state, the Ragnite merely killed the weak, and crippled the strong. But now there was Ragnium. The Perfect Soldier project had created a derivative of the substance that increased threefold the strength of the average soldier. Paragon was the first successful test subject, hence her new name as Ragnium-1. Pailsen had realized at the beginning of the month, when the Ragnium had finally been properly refined, that a wholly obedient soldier was not the only thing that would make them viable for Project Valhalla. They needed strength beyond that of mortal men to start with. The new Perfect Soldiers would be just that, thanks to Ragnium.

She jammed the needle into her right arm and pushed the contents in, not caring that it left a hole in her Gallian-blue uniform. She didn't question why she wore it, not that she questioned much to start with. Pailsen's quirks were not her concern. This was her purpose. Already Paragon could feel her strength building up. The Ragnium was warm beneath her skin, and the world was starting to slow down and become more perceptible around her. Everything was amplified. But she knew as soon as the adrenaline of battle kicked in, she'd need to end this quickly alongside her fellow Candidates.

And then an announcement rang out across the open area where she and the others were. There were a few sandbags and some makeshift structures for cover, as well as the trees of the forest. Enough to make it look like a proper battlefield.

A powerful, extremely authoritative masculine voice spoke across the entire area, and a bit further off. "The target is just over the next hill! You are to engage and then pass the checkpoint! Do not be lax simply because this is a simulation! BEGIN!"

Paragon could hear the far-off footsteps. She waited for the other Candidates to get moving, then picked up her standard Warpick and riot shield, following quickly after them. Once they stopped, she did as well, and ducked behind a sandbag. Briefly, she fiddled with a small lantern at her waist, testing it. A remnant of the initial, close-minded ideals for this project. The Perfect Soldier could see the enemies starting to come down and around the hill, and readied herself.

**-SHIFT-**(A/N because little symbols and stuff don't goddamn show up on Fanfiction)

Carson Cuvie. GRA soldier. Shocktrooper. Veteran of the Second Europan War. While he fought on a front that did not see him at Ghirlandaio, he still saw much action, and achieved quite a few awards. A man of six foot three, with blond hair and blue eyes, he revolted because he saw the Darcsens as unfit to rule. Carson shared not the extremist views of most of the Revolutionaries, but all the same he would rather serve them than Lady Cordelia. Or just Cordelia, as he mentally referred to her. And now… He and twenty-one others were handpicked to join Colonel Pailsen's elite, but secretive unit. But first they would be tested to see just how good they were.

He saw the enemies up ahead. Already he could spot the edge of a couple of Mortar Lances coming over the sandbags and cover, and a few other signs of soldiers. One of his comrades a little further ahead grinned as he readied his SMG. "They're just blanks anyway! Shoot 'em all up! Hahaha!"

[Plunk].

The sound of the mortars being launched rang out, and the furthest soldier ahead, as well as six of his teammates had barely time to comprehend the sight before the rounds touched ground and went off. The blue flames of the Ragnite within the explosives burned most of their bodies, leaving barely an identifiable trace behind, save for a shrapnel-torn, cauterized arm or leg.

"Wh-what the he—" Another one was shot right through the skull, the insides of his head splattering all over the cold dirt as he tried to find some cover.

Carson could only look on in horror, but he managed to just narrowly avoid meeting the same fate. The Shocktrooper hid behind a tree and watched as another one of his "teammates", a blond Sniper, try to aim over with his rifle, looking calm and almost sociopathic, before getting sniped himself right through his scope.

He saw four of them manage to regroup, to try and go flank the enemies… But then, he saw a man from the enemy side, moving almost like an animal on all fours, leap forward and slash one of their throats out with a bayonet. Growling, he stuck the blade through a second, then kicked the third, a Shocktrooper, and wrested his gun from him to kill both him and his Engineer comrade.

Carson then turned to find someone else approaching him, someone on his side who he'd seen as they were arriving. He had black matted hair, and looked like the sort of soldier who saw frontline action, or even action behind enemy lines. "H-hey!" Carson said to him, "This isn't just an exercise! They're really shooting at us!"

"If we stay here, we're dead." The other soldier replied, somewhat stoically. Carson started to recognize him as a fellow veteran. "Steel" Roy Falenas. A man reputed to have wiped out twenty Imperial troops without a single combat injury. Only some damage from overtaxing his body. The story may have been exaggerated, but in either case, the soldier saw that this would be someone to listen to. "We'll go around and break through." The man—a Shocktrooper himself—started to run, and Carson went right after him.

They came upon three enemies, and immediately sprayed their SMGs, filling their bodies with bullets, one of them getting shot through the head. They hadn't the time to scream or report anything to their comrades before they hit the floor. Roy picked up one of their weapons and kept on moving, finding cover behind a tree, with Pailsen's compound overlooking them nearby.

As they kept moving, they saw some lights on ahead of them turn on... Lanterns that glowed in the distance as if they were apparitions...

-**SHIFT-**

Major Leeman, one of Pailsen's subordinate combat commanders, whom looked much like the man himself, but with a rounder, stricter face, stood at an observational position at a safe distance from the battlefield that was currently being used as the proving ground for the candidates. He listened to the reports of the nearby Scouts who were watching the affair. The Major tapped his commander's crop against his gloved palm, with a neutral, and yet still not impressed expression.

"Numbers 1, 3, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, killed in action. Number 8, incapacitated. Number 4, killed in action."

Another scout overrode the report. "Numbers 5 and 21 nearly moved out of the zone. Should we stop them?"

Leeman adjusted his cap with the crop at this, now looking a bit intrigued by this report.

**-SHIFT-**

Paragon drove her Warpick straight through Recruit #4's heart, not bothering to take a look at his horrified face. Her lantern was on, to help with that effect. As soon as the Perfect Soldier was sure he was dead, she removed the now-bloodied weapon and moved on, his entrails still attached to it. Then she heard the sound of an SMG firing in her direction, and turned around, putting up her shield to block them. A blond Shocktrooper and a black-haired Shocktrooper. Paragon immediately ran toward them, with far more speed and agility than should be expected of an ordinary Armored Tech, and bounded so that she might reach them quickly. But, much to her surprise, they both rolled out of the way and shot at her once again. It was only because of her Ragnium-enhanced reflexes that she could block that as well. "Two over here." She said on the radio, aiming to get some assistance.

Truth be told, she was pleased. Even as she jumped back to dodge a grenade that the black-haired man threw, she saw worthy candidates before her. Two men who would survive Pailsen's cannibalism. This brutal, real battle meant to sift out those without ability. At the same time, though, she was a bit worried about what the Doctor might think. That she could not beat two simple men without going over combat capacity. With that in mind, and after the smoke from the grenade cleared—

She was shoulder-charged by the other one from the side, but gave a kick so that she might knock him away. "Don't forget about me!" The blond one who had hit her so bravely taunted her, even as she swung her Warpick. Though the fear was clear in his eyes, it did not override him. He rolled to the side and let the weapon get stuck in the ground. Paragon would have thrown her shield in response to that, but the other one simply would. Not. Give. Up. Shooting her. …Not until he had to reload. But then, this one was right in front of her, and she was forced to dodge to the side when he fired his SMG—with speed enough to completely surprise him, and still holding her shield. At this, he threw some dirt into her eyes, and immediately ran off while she tried to clear her vision, the "click" of his empty clip being heard while he tried to distract her. Once Paragon could see again, she moved to finish off the rest… Now severely disappointed in herself.

But then the signal ran out. The session was over. Now was time for she and the survivors to return to base. Whoever those two men were before… They now inherited what the men they had killed lost: Pailsen's attention.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed that little session! Disclaimers:<strong>

**I own, so far, only Morgan, Carson, Larry, and Roy.**

**James London property of Turtler**

**Katarina, Eclaire, and Paragon property of Dr. Evil**

**Zamuel and that crying girl property of Saint-Zaby**

**Miles and Samantha property of RedShocktrooper**

**Colonel Yoran Pailsen, Major Leeman, the term "Perfect Soldier", and the cannibalism exercise property of Sunrise Inc.**


End file.
